


Get me ready to shoot

by Noscere



Series: Nested Gold [3]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Breathplay, Criminal Yang AU, Dance is merely a publicly acceptable form of sex, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Light BDSM, Rough Sex, night club
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-05-28 03:17:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6313309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noscere/pseuds/Noscere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where Yang becomes a feared criminal in her own right, she's got a little something going on with the head of the Arcturus Gang, Hei "Junior" Xiong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Feel the Pulse

She strides towards the nightclub, where the electronic bass shakes the air outside the steel-lined doors. Junior’s has changed since more Beacon students have started coming to his club – no more heavy synth and hard rock on Friday nights, when business is best. Tonight, nobody will see her amongst the crowd of young adults partying off a hard week of studying.

Yang feels the daggers hidden in her pleated belt. She bends, pretending to dust off her boots, to feel the handgun in her right boot. Good. Invisible as always. There’s always danger lurking around the next corner when you’re the head of Vale’s biggest cartel. Her gauntlets are heavy on her forearms, but there is no reason not to be prepared. The gauntlets let her pass as a Huntress. The gun? It tells criminals exactly who she is.

Her Scroll buzzes with a message from Ruby.

_Hey! We’re home from Atlas! Weiss sends kisses! <3 <3 <3_

Her Scroll buzzes again.

_You wish. - Weiss_

She fires off a response, “ _Sorry, Ice Queen, you’re not quite my thing. Have fun, you two! I gotta go to a meeting. Ruby – left you a present, it’s under your bed. Don’t let Weiss see. Night!”_ before turning off her Scroll and slipping it into her belt. She makes sure to cover the camera with a small bandage. It may look stupid, but it will keep the police from spying on her.

 

Yang smiles and straightens, tight muscles uncoiling like a snake readying to strike.

She’s not as young as she used to be: in her late twenties, she knows better than to knock the club doors off their hinges. It’ll dip too deeply into Junior’s funds, and as much fun as wanton destruction is, she wants to keep relations between the Arcturus Gang and the Bloodborne Cartel friendly.

Well. She’s sure that she could blow up his club, and Junior would come running back for a certain kind of _friendly_. But what would that accomplish for the young head of the Bloodborne? Nothing profitable, that’s for sure.

 

The doors slide open. Guerra – the MMA fighter banned from every ring on Remnant, who Junior employed after the Twin Suns took a hit on him – steps out in front of her.

(Yang was in the club that night. The assassin didn’t live to see the sun rise.)

“ID pl– oh!” Guerra dips into a quick bow. “Sir! The Boss is a bit busy, but if you wait, I can let him–“

Yang holds out her hand. The young man immediately freezes.

“Easy there, Guerra.” She claps him on the shoulder, and for good measure, slips a 20-lien chip into his pocket. “We’ll keep this hush hush, just between the two of us, okay?”

“Yessir. Have a good evening!”

“Will do, kiddo.”

Although Guerra is barely a decade younger than her, he salutes and snaps back into position beside the outer doors.

 

Yang scans the club. The twins are monitoring the dance floor, intermingling with the throbbing crowd of Beacon students. They drop into quick bows before jumping back into the beat of the song.

Junior is at the back of the club, at a small roped-off alcove near the bar. He’s talking with his newest business partner – Soryu Fujimoto from the West Valean Huntsman Assocation, she thinks, not Arsene Lupin of the Hellbenders – gesturing wildly as he speaks. His companion merely takes a sip of his drink and laughs. From the looks of it, they’re about to seal the deal, and Junior’s just playing up the role of the affable host.

She makes her way to the edge of the crowd, just before bar. If Junior looks up, there’s no way he’ll miss her leather jacket among the flurry of Huntsman and Huntress uniforms.

DJ Paws must have noticed her, because the song that comes on after “Mr. Salesman” is much, much darker. A fast heartbeat pulses over the speakers.

“ _This is not the way into my heart_  
_Into my head_  
_Into my brain”_

Junior doesn’t look up.

Shame.

_Click-click!_

Yang unlocks Ember Celica. The sound brings the crowd into a frenzy, as if signaling the beginning of a hunt. They bob and weave behind her, the beat of a primal dance.

She cocks her hip, her blood-red sash fluttering out behind her. Junior looks up, eyes sharp and scanning the club – they fall on her. His jaw drops, and damn right it should. She smiles and lifts her hand, crooks her finger – his gaze zeroes in on the movement – and beckons.

Beside him, the Huntsman shakes his head and laughs.

 

“ _This is just my way of unleashing_  
_The feelings deep inside of me_  
_This spark of black that I seem to love”_

 

She swings her hips, her sash a smear of blood fanning out behind her. Golden locks bounce over her shoulders, falling over the tight valley between her breasts. Yang pushes her hair back, arms reaching for the scarlet and gold lights flashing over the dance floor.

A Beacon student – a silver haired girl, her combat dress the color of the moon – reaches out to Yang.

 _Come dance with me?_ Her eyes ask.

Yang shakes her head. She twirls on her heel, hands dropping to her hips and sliding back up to her neck.

“ _Look, don’t touch,_ ” she thinks, undulating to the electronic beat.

Junior swallows hard, and tears his eyes away. He focuses on the Huntsman before him and continues talking, gestures more animated than before.

 

“ _Here's a sneak_  
_Little peek_  
_You can dominate the game_  
_Cause I'm tough”_

 

Junior’s gaze flits between the flick of her strong, capable hands and his business partner’s face. She can see the groan rising in his broad chest, see the anticipation dancing in his fingers as he races to seal the deal.

 She clasps her hands over her heart, closes her eyes, and sways side to side. Through the sliver of her eyes, she watches Junior cross his legs.

“ _Come and get me_ ,” Yang thinks.

Junior’s mouth is a blur, she can imagine the scruff of his chin against her thighs and those clever lips on her own – he’s twitching in his seat, bulky muscles tensing and groaning against the well-fitted dress slacks that she’ll see on his floor come dawn.

Heavy rock suddenly intercuts the synth strains.

 

“ _I burn!_

_Give me some more_

_Can't hold me back_

_Get undressed_

_When you learn that I burn!”_

 

Yang stifles a laugh as she strikes a pose: one hand behind her head, bosom pushed out, the other hand trailing up the length of a rock-hard thigh. Once one of her worst enemies in the Arcturus Gang, DJ Paws, as Misra would put it, “ships it."

Junior eventually shakes Soryu’s hand and ushers him out of the alcove. Yang hides a smirk at the wobble in gang boss’s step, and the speed at which Junior flees behind the bar counter.

Unluckily for her fellow criminal, the club doesn’t close for another hour.

 

Yang spends the rest of the time dancing – she catches the occasional eye of a Beacon boy or a fellow criminal out for the night, but she sidesteps their advances and focuses on her prey behind the counter.

To his credit, Junior is the picture of nonchalance. He only overpours a mug of pint once while she undulates on the dance floor, hands sliding over places she knows he’s burning to touch.

 _Look, don’t touch_ , she chants to herself, as she thrusts her hips and falls into another twirl. It’s the rule of her goods in the Bloodborne cartel, and it’s the rule while she’s the queen and mistress of the dance floor.

Junior never stops looking at her with the eyes of a wolf who has spotted a rabbit.

 

 

“Last call for drinks!” Guerra finally says.

She waits for the last of the Beacon students to leave the bar before she strolls up, heat pulsing in her belly.

“Looking for somebody, big boy?” she asks, plopping onto a red leather stool. She crosses her legs and tosses her hair back, the picture of innocence.

“What can I get you, Blondie?” Junior asks.

“Strawberry Sunrise, no ice. Oh. And one of those little paper umbrellas if you got’em.”

Junior immediately reaches behind the counter and brings out a pitcher of orange juice. He measures off 4 ounces of juice, 2 and a half of crème de fraises, ½ ounce of grenadine into a highball glass. With a practiced ease, he slices up a strawberry into a fan and slides it over the highball’s rim.

The criminal boss plops a bright orange paper umbrella into her drink. Yang reaches into her belt and pulls out a 5 lien chip. It’s counterfeit – something Junior knows well, and can’t mistake as an invitation.

 

“How’s business, Blondie?” he asks as she drains the glass.

“Oh, you know, the usual.” She takes out the umbrella and spears the strawberry. “The boys doing okay?”

His mouth opens – she thinks it might be to warn her, something soft and sappy like “ _don’t get killed”_ – but he seems to think better of it.

“It’s been a long week,” Junior finally says. The clock chimes midnight. The henchmen begin to herd the clubgoers out. “I could use a bite.”

“Well, it’s on me,” she taps the Strawberry Sunrise, “if this is too.”

Junior checks the empty club, and leans in.

“Well, I’m a man of my word. I know a few places.”

Yang grins. “Give me a place to park my baby,” she twirls his tie around her fingers, and pulls him close, “and I’m all yours.”

Junior rolls his eyes as he runs out from behind the counter. “You’ve got a weird fascination with your bike, Blondie!”

“Could say the same about you and me!” she calls back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Flesh, by Simon Curtis.
> 
> This is a divergence from the first chapter of "Sunshade, Nightlight", where out of pure drunken desperation, Yang joins Junior's gang. She eventually becomes successful enough to start her own cartel.
> 
> Since Sunshade, Nightlight is moving at a much slower pace, I decided to fast-forward to Junior/Yang. Or Yang doing her best to drive Junior nuts at his own club.


	2. Don't be so shy, play with me

Junior drives this time – a sleek black sports car that melts into the Valean downtown, like a ghost of the asphalt gliding beneath electric lights that never sleep. He’s just as crazy a driver as she is – loves to gun it when the engine is purring beneath him and her hand is on his thigh and miles of empty road lie before them. When she’s on her bike, and his arms are clasped around her waist, there’s that same crackling energy that runs through her nerves that she only gets when her fist’s halfway through an Ursa skull.

Tonight, in the heart of Vale, when the city is sleeping and the last partygoers are heading home, he maneuvers the wheel like it’s just another deal. The car purrs beneath her thighs.

She settles her hand on his leg.

“Hands off the goods, Blondie, unless you’re gunning for an accident,” he says, braking a little too hard at a red light. Her hand jerks up to his belly. “Wouldn’t want to miss the show.”

Yang strokes his cheek. She can feel his teeth grinding, knows what they can do on her neck. A flush of pride swells in her chest. This gangster – her gangster – is wrapped around her middle finger, and with a flick of her hand, she’ll have him ready to blow.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, big boy.”

 

The rest of the drive is spent too close, and yet not close enough.

She stares up at the tower of white marble and lights. The Callisto Hotel – most expensive hotel in all of downtown Vale, and most of the money finds its way into Junior’s pockets. There’s an Arcturus safehouse up in the penthouse. It’s the most plush – and expensive – of all the rooms the gang owns. She has used it, while on the run from the police. It’s not a bad place to lick her wounds. And hey, the walls are padded, so nobody can hear Junior scream.

“Need something?” Yang smiles at him – his eyes flick up to the rearview mirror, then back to the road. “You don’t usually spoil me on a booty call.”

“Aww, thought I meant something to you.”

Yang draws a dagger from her pleated skirt. She tests its edge, and slides it back into the folds of the scarlet fabric.

“Don’t get cuddly, Junior.”

Junior barks out a laugh. There’s no fear in his eyes. “Might have something in mind tonight, Blondie.” His fingers tighten on the steering wheel, knuckles made Grimm white by the streetlights. “You ready for this?”

She cocks her head. “Bring it.”

Junior pulls into an empty stall and sets the parking brake. Once the car is still, Yang’s fingers dance over to the bulge in the fabric of his thick dress pants.

“Somebody’s eager.” She dips her fingers behind his belt.

He grabs her shoulders – pulls her in for a rough kiss, his tongue runs along her bottom lip and she tastes whiskey and strawberries – then lets go.

“Little teaser for tonight. You’re lucky I’m a patient man, Blondie,” he says, taking the keys out of the ignition. He stretches, hard muscle rolling beneath his suit. “Otherwise, I’d fuck you raw over the counter. What would the other bosses say?”

She laughs, fire roaring in her voice.

“Very little, if they know what’s good for them.”

He grins, all sharp teeth of a hunter. _Look, don’t touch_ , they scream.

 

She doesn’t know how they make it into the lobby, up the elevator and into the penthouse, with barely a grope to tide them over. It’s like she’s a teenager all over again: but this time, there is no hesitation, no fear in her movements. She’s a huntress in her prime, and she lords over the jungle now.

 Junior jams his key into the door and throws it open.

 Downtown Vale sprawls out underneath the balcony, Beacon a pinprick of green light in the distance. The minute the oak door is locked behind her, her fellow criminal pounces on her and pins her hands above her head to the wall.

“Thought you wanted a bite?” she asks, lax in his grip. If she really wanted, she could throw him halfway across the hotel. But she lets him have his power, his strength, to lull him in.

Junior sinks his teeth into the hollow of her neck. He sucks hard enough to bring sparks of Aura to her skin, which banish the bruise as quickly as it forms.

“I’ll settle for it later,” he says, and rips the sash from her hips.

“That’s Atlesian silk.” She wraps his tie, noting the matching shade of blood-red, around her fingers and jerks him in. “Do you know how much that costs?”

“Lemme guess.” His hands are still working, always working, undoing her belts and leaving her open. “The blood of five men and sixty-one Grimm.”

Yang flashes him a grin. “Fifty cents.”

Junior snorts. Her pleated skirt drops to the plush carpet, “Good to know, sweetheart, you’re a high-roller for me.” She jerks on his tie. “Ah, sir!” he gasps. “Sir, yes sir!”

“I don’t make the rules.” Yang bites her lip, then pulls on his tie until his ear is flush against her lips. “Oh wait. I do. Get the rest of my clothes off.”

“Yes sir.”

Yang lets go of the tie, and leans against the wall. “With your lips.”

Junior gets on his knees and takes the hem of her shorts in his teeth. “Yesh shir–“

She pushes his head down. His teeth rake her flesh, scoring six neat lines against flawless skin.

To his credit, Junior only lets go when her shorts drop down her calves. He breathes in sharply. Trigger-callused fingers trail over the garter on her right calf. They follow the control pad, tucked into the garter, up the cord and to the damp lining of her silk panties. Junior presses his fingers against her folds. She knows he can feel the vibrator humming merrily away.

 

“All day?” he asks.

“What can I say?” She strokes his chin, luxuriating in the rasp of his beard against her fingers. “Girl’s got needs when you’re not around.”

Junior grins and licks his fingers clean. “You spoil me.” He tugs down her panties and presses a kiss to her clit. “Got a little surprise for my favorite gangster too.”

“Really. I think,” she pulls on his tie, and it comes loose in her hand, “we are wearing far too many clothes.”

“Huh.” Junior strips off her jacket. “Might be the first time we’ve agreed on something.”

His belt and nicely-pressed pants drop to the floor – “These have far too many buttons,” he says, and she laughs – Junior unclasps her bra and chucks it away – “Trying to send it to Beacon?” she asks, and he swats her head – she grabs him and forces him into a rough kiss, and his suit jacket is warm under her feet – Junior’s hands grab her thighs, she can feel the bruises forming – Yang unbuttons his shirt, nails raking every inch of skin she can find, until she finds a small spherical bug tucked into his pocket–

“A _-ha._ ” Yang plucks the small camera from its hiding place. “You wanted a sex tape? You know, you just had to ask.”

“I’m a _mob boss_ , not some two-bit porn peddler,” Junior retorts. “Only the best for you.”

This is a game they play, behind the safety of padded walls and guns hidden beneath each surface – there is always some sort of listening device tucked away on their bodies. This bug is expensive: the latest Atlesian tech, able to scan a person’s biometric data from a continent away. It’s a show of the Arcturus’s wealth and power. If a government were to get its hands on this… well, what’s the fun without some risk?

“Aww, you shouldn’t have.” She conjures a flame. The bug disappears in a hiss of acrid smoke. “You don’t usually go all out for me.”

Junior cups her ass, then hoists her onto his waist. “What can I say?” She can feel him, hard and hot beneath her thighs and the thin fabric of his boxers. She rolls her hips and watches him swallow his moan. “O-one of us has to keep up appearances.”

“Hmm. In that case,” she bites into his jugular, sucking hard until she can feel his pained cry vibrating in his throat, “I claim this in the name of Yang!”

“Yup. To the trashcan you go.” Junior drops her.

She lands lightly, and flexes her gauntled wrists. “You really wanna go there, big boy?”

His eyes travel up the line of her thighs to her full breasts. “Depends. What’s in it for me?”

Yang strikes – she grabs him and hoists him over her shoulders, then marches into the bedroom. “I might fuck your brains out. Depends.” She tosses the older man onto the bed, then disengages her gauntlets and drops them onto the floor. “Are you up for it?”

Junior rolls his eyes and gestures to his hips. “I’m guessing you’re just here to admire the goods.”

“Someone’s got an ego.” Yang hops onto the bed and clicks on the lamp. Junior sprawls out underneath her, all lanky muscle decorated in intricate blue tattoos. She spreads her folds and settles over his left thigh. “Gotta tell you, Junior,” Yang says, as she grinds herself against him, “I’ve had better.”

Her fellow criminal flicks the dial on the vibrator to max. Yang grits her teeth. Junior reaches out and kneads her tits, drawing her nipples between calloused fingers, keeping her on the edge until her head’s fluffy and she’s ready to burst.

“Really?” he says. “Well, Blondie,” he twists a nipple, and she bites down hard on her tongue, “maybe we can make a deal.”

She leans down and bites hard on his earlobe.

“I’m all ears, Junior.” Yang laughs. “Whatcha got for me?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There should be three other parts to this story, divided by subject matter. Next one coming out soon!
> 
> Chapter title from "Mr. Saxobeat", by Alexandra Stan.


	3. She's dirty dancin' on me

Junior’s hands caress Yang's ass. She can feel him quivering, the hard muscle of his thighs crumbling beneath her, drawn taut like a bow ready to shoot. 

“Just a little favor, between you and me. Suck me off, and I’ll eat you out.”

Yang draws his cock out of his boxers and lays it out against his belly. She hums in approval: he’s angry red and aching hard, just the way she likes him.

“You know, I’ve definitely fucked guys who talked dirty better than you." Yang parts her folds and straddles the bearded bartender's cock. She slides up and down, gliding on her fluids. The vibrator hums away inside her. "I hope you aren't cashing checks your ass can't keep."

Junior shakes his head. “And they say romance is dead.” He taps his mouth. “Up.”

“Aww, that’s cute.” She wraps her fingers around Junior neck. It’s a delicate dance – too much, and her toy will merely cum over her thighs. Yang fixes him in place with a grin she saves for snitches and traitors. “You think you can order me around?”

One hand cups her ass. The minute he lets go is the minute she must stop.

“Been in the business longer than you, Blondie.” Junior glares back at her, lips showing the slightest hint of teeth. “I know what I want. You’d do well not to ignore me.”

“Is this what you want?” Yang presses down, careful to avoid crushing his windpipe. The cartel boss could do it – but what’s the fun there? She flirts with grizzled men who have killed thousands and blows up shipments of crack because she knows she can walk away. Danger is only fun when escape is probably, not impossible.

“Damn straight, Blondie.”

She loosens her grip. “Missing something, big boy.”

He licks his lips. “Yes, sir.”

Yang keeps her fingers off his carotids – she wants to draw this out, watch him struggle for breath as she undulates on his hips. It’s no fun for either of them if Junior passes out. She can almost see the thin strands of his Aura racing to the impact zone, trying to banish her hands from his vulnerable throat. Yang can almost see Junior's silver-tinged presence, twining around his jugular and carotids, trying to keep the mob boss alive. How fragile, this brutish man is, when she breaks him down into his component parts. She holds his life in her hands.

The bearded bartender manages a grin.

“Harder.”

She keeps pressing down. Junior's struggling now: she can feel his cock twitching against her thighs, in the tell-tale way of a man on the cusp of climax. Yang rubs against him - not enough to send him over the edge, but just enough to sate her lust for the friction of skin against skin. The fritz of static in her head intensifies.

“Harder!”

“Only the best for you,” Yang says, and presses against his carotids.

His heart pulses – jittery, like a rookie holding a gun for the first time – and then she knows he’ll start to go under, as his Aura gives in. He is nothing like her, a trained Huntress, whose Aura flows through her body like blood. Five seconds later, and his eyes roll back into his head and his arm goes slack against her body.

Yang waits. Junior does not respond.

She only lets go when she feels his breath quiver and his life close to slipping from her fingers.

 

Junior comes back slowly – a twitch of callused fingers, a shaky breath – but when he’s back, he grabs a hank of her hair and pulls her in for a kiss.

Yang runs her tongue across the tips of his teeth – Junior tugs on her hair – they give and take, in a game they know well. Junior’s nails rake red welts into her fiery skin – Yang draws blood from his breathless lips – and they fight to bring the other to their knees.

The bearded bartender is the first to give in. He relinquishes her slowly, a hunter unwilling to abandon his kill. His cock twitches impatiently between her folds.

“Ladies first,” Junior says, tapping his lips.

“In that case…” Yang gets up and repositions herself atop his mouth. She leans forward so she can suck his cock. “You can call me sir.”

His tongue glides up her folds, circling her entrance.

She shudders. Aura races through her veins. Tiny flames leak from her fingers and burn his inner thighs.

Junior lets out a hiss of approval. He leaves slow bites along her thighs, kissing up to her cunt – slowly, slowly, the buzzing of the vibrator will drive her mad if she doesn’t come soon – and then his lips are on her clit, light feathery kisses she can barely feel. Just as Yang’s about to protest, Junior rakes his teeth across her sensitive bud.

She shudders and swallows a moan. “That all you got?” she asks, mouth still posed on his cock.

“Fuck, no. Don’t rush art, Blondie.”

Yang kisses the tip of his cock, tasting her slick on his skin. _Mine_. Her reddened lips suck away the droplet of precum. _Look, but don’t touch._

Junior moans into her skin.

She grins and takes him into her mouth : inch by inch, deep into her throat, her fire seizing him and burning away the gangster persona to reveal her personal plaything.

Yang slides back up, and Junior whines in protest. She takes in the head of his cock, laps at the underside, where she can feel the beat of his heart throbbing through red-black veins.

Junior’s teeth scrape against her clit. Her Aura rages through her body, seeking a danger that does not exist.

The head of his cock leaves her lips with a quiet pop – Junior stops sucking her clit, but any protest he might have made is silenced when she takes a deep breath and slides his entire length down her throat.

“Fuck! Blondie!” His nails rake against her sides. “Fuck!”

She bobs her head, coming back for a short breath, and then she’s down again, taking him all the way to his balls. Up, quick breath, down and swallow the twitching of his cock. Up, hint of teeth along the shaft, down, and let his thickness muffle the cry building in her throat.

 

Junior’s good with his lips and tongue – a hint of teeth at her entrance, a long lick up to her clit – she’s wet and ready, and just waiting for him to fold.

“Blondie – not gonna last,” he pants. His hair bristles against the pillows. “Sorry – I –“

Yang twists and perches over his thighs, trapping his legs between her own. She slides a finger down his slick cock. “Should I take this out?” she asks, toying with the vibrator cord.

“Fuck, yes.”

She gives him five seconds to correct his mistake, then slaps him.

Junior reels as the bruise blooms across his cheek, but the grin is unmistakable. It seems it wasn’t a mistake after all.

“Sir! Ready for your orders, sir!”

Yang brushes back long golden locks, tossing them over her shoulder with a slender hand. Her hands slide down from her throat, over the curve of her tits, down the plane of her abs and to the garter bound around her thigh. She summons a flame to her index and burns it off. Yang twines the cord over her thumb and draws out the vibrator. She clicks it off. Dust, she feels empty.

“Get that off.” Yang motions to his briefs. “I wanna see you bruise.”

Junior obliges. His eyes lock onto the sway of her breasts. She pushes back her long golden locks and cups her breasts, squeezing and kneading her nipples between fire-hardened fingers.

The gang boss props himself onto his elbows. His hands twitch at his sides. He knows the rules. Hands off, until she says so.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he says.

 _Look, don’t touch_ , she chants, as she settles above Junior's cock. It’s flat against his lower belly, pre-cum pearling on the tip once more. Junior’s hands move across her hips and down to his cock. His left hand plays with her clit, while he positions his dick with his right. The head of his cock rubs against her entrance. Yang attempts to grind down, but his hands keep her still.

“Whatcha want, Blondie?” Junior asks.

“To do taxes.” She’s dripping wet, and he’s so close. “Whaddya think, big boy?”

“Mmm, gotta be more specific than that.”

She growls and rakes his chest. “I want you to fuck my brains out."

“That an order?”

“Damn straight.”

Junior lets go, and she plunges onto his cock – _full, full_ – tears threaten to drip from her eyes but she likes him best like this. He’s thick and hot, fire fighting against fire, girth stretching her walls. Junior stretches beneath her, thick muscles coiling and uncoiling. He’s built like a wall, and it’s all hers. _Look, don’t touch – he’s all mine._

Yang sighs contentedly.

“Fuck, you’re hot,” she whispers as he thrusts up – hard, unyielding, fury bundled into scars and tattoos that roll down his trunk to his toes.

“That a compliment?”

“When you earn it.” Yang lifts up, and comes down to meet his thrust. The thud jars her, but it’s worth it to feel the head of his cock pushing against the spot that makes her sing. “Come on, big boy, show me you’re worth the wait.”

He grabs her breasts and draws the nipples into sharp peaks between his fingers. She undulates on his dick, drawing harsh moans from his ragged throat. Yang dips forward so he hits the sweet spot and white lights play around her vision. He thrusts harder, meeting her with every stroke.

“Come on, Blondie, that the best you got?” he growls. Sweat beads over his forehead, rolls off the long scar down his left eye. “Come on, Blondie, I know you’re better than that.”

“You know I’m worth the wait.”

Yang dips her head. Her tongue paints a wet swathe down his pectoral. She takes one of his nipples into her mouth, and bites down hard, savoring Junior’s moans. Fuck, he’s a loud one. She’ll make him scream. The city of Vale will know that this gangster belongs to the head of the Bloodborne Cartel.

 

She bites down hard, and suddenly he’s screaming and his thrusts are pistoning into her cunt. Junior draws a shaky breath, but she doesn’t relent – her teeth close on his other pectoral and leave a lotus shaped bruise – Junior screams prayers to her name – at some point, his words descend into a litany of _Yang, Yang, fuck, fuck me – Yang_ –

“Come on, big boy.” Yang releases his flesh. Her right hand dips down to her clit, and starts encircling that angry red bud. Fire runs through her veins. “Don’t leave me hanging.”

“Choke me,” he begs, as his fingers join hers in rubbing her clit. Junior’s head is tilted back, revealing his vulnerable throat. “So close – fuck – choke me!”

Fire roars in her head. There’s liquid heat in her belly, and she’s ready to blow.

Yang’s fingers close around his throat. Junior’s breath wheezes away in his throat, his dick slides in and out of her with slick, satisfying sounds; his callused fingers rub her thin and tight – _fuck, this wouldn’t be a bad way to go_ , Yang thinks.

“Harder,” he chokes.

She presses down, callused fingers locking around the white column of his neck.

Junior sputters, eyes rolling back in his head.

“Harder!"

He’s going blue in the face. His body rocks beneath her. He's getting harder inside her.

Yang rocks her hips back – little more – there!

Fire races through her veins. It demands a sacrifice.

She closes her eyes, and lets go.

 

He screams something – incoherent, maybe Valean, maybe his native Mistralian tongue – it could be a prayer to the old gods who held their festivals beneath the blood moon or her name –

She feels the hot flush of his cum inside her – the twitch of his cock as he spends himself – _slish_ and _shluck_ , their fluids mingle on her thighs as she comes down from her high. Yang settles on his hips, panting for breath.

The bluish tinge drains from Junior’s face. He gasps for breath.

Yang keeps rocking her hips, riding out the last wave of her climax, until he begs, “Sir, no more, I – I can’t–“

“If you say so, big boy.”

She plants a kiss on his forehead and carefully slides off.

They catch their breath, tangled in silk sheets and golden locks. At some point, he pulls her over for a rough kiss.

“Mine,” he says when they draw back for breath. “Fuck, you’re amazing.”

Yang draws her index over his chest. Her nail scratches out a flaming heart, then three slashes: the symbol of the Bloodborne cartel, sitting neatly between an Ursa skull tattoo and a rose entwined in barbed wire. _Mine_ , it reads.

“Sure am,” she agrees.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looking for a better song, but this one's Dirty Dancin', by New Kids on the Block.
> 
> Next chapter: Junior's surprise for Yang is surprisingly technological. In the mean time:  
> Shame  
> Shame  
> Shame  
> *Ding*
> 
> *Edited for grammar issues!


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